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<title>and tell me if somehow some of it remained by rohesia</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528315">and tell me if somehow some of it remained</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohesia/pseuds/rohesia'>rohesia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Joe is a sap, M/M, Michelangelo was in love with Nicolò</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:02:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohesia/pseuds/rohesia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn’t one single piece of art that doesn’t carry with it the echo of a feeling he’s already seen painted on Nicky’s face; every shade of red reminds him of a bruise he’s kissed, a cut he’s seen heal, eyes filled with reverence, a mark left by a kiss, quickly disappearing and taking Joe’s devotion with it, buried in the folds of time, Nicky’s open mouth as he desperately calls Joe’s name.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and tell me if somehow some of it remained</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was looking at a gif set on tumblr and my brain went: he kind of looks like the David, though. So this followed. Yes, Michelangelo saw Nicky and was like… dude stop right there. In my head Joe takes him to Florence every year and is endlessly entertained by tourists staring at Nicky like “is it me or…? Nah”. Their love gives me joy.</p><p>Title from: As it was by Hozier</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There isn’t one single piece of art that doesn’t carry with it the echo of a feeling he’s already seen painted on Nicky’s face; every shade of red reminds him of a bruise he’s kissed, a cut he’s seen heal, eyes filled with reverence, a mark left by a kiss, quickly disappearing and taking Joe’s devotion with it, buried in the folds of time, Nicky’s open mouth as he desperately calls Joe’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold, smooth marble, sculpted into life, sometimes right in front of their eyes, whispers to them about their bodies stilled by death, time and time again, and then injected by a breath of life again. Joe can see death and life hiding in the mesmerizing lips of the David, lips he knows well because he kisses them every day and every night; it towers over him, eyes following the long, majestic line of its body, and it steals Joe’s breath away, especially with Nicky being right next to him, a hand firmly clasped in Joe’s, as he listens to his thoughts flowing right into his body and back into Nicky’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m almost jealous, you know,” Joe says, Nicky already smiling brightly, head bent down “All these people looking at you, writing books about you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that every year,” Nicky whispers, amused. “But then you say you actually pity them…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should feel repetitive, like a staged conversation, Joe thinks, but just because centuries flow one into the other like giant waves, never reaching shore, leaving him stranded in an ocean he can barely navigate without the man standing next to him, doesn’t mean he can’t just close his eyes and let time do its thing sometimes, washing him away and anew, drowning old feelings in holy water and giving them back like relics he can keep close to his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I pity them,” Joe echoes, “They could spend the next thousand years trying to encapsulate in their big, pompous words the truth of those eyes, of those lips, of those hands, of this block of Carrara marble, but they will never come even remotely close to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The David stares forward, endlessly, and Joe can see in those eyes, even from the ground, his neck straining painfully, the same determination and steadfastness that right now is staring right back at him from a breath away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Michelangelo might take offense at that,” Nicky whispers in his ear, leaving a quick, fleeting kiss on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michalangelo kept you all for himself for almost two years, he can take a little offense,” Joe retorts, a hint of amusement and nostalgia in his tone nonetheless. He had liked Michelangelo, had almost wished immortality on him, but he’s not sure he would have appreciated it, all in all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kept distracting him by distracting me, of course it took him two years, even with his perfectionism and his manias.”</span>
</p><p><span>Joe laughs, remembering one memorable episode, including him, Nicky, </span><em><span>Micky </span></em><span>(at least that’s how he likes to call and remember him these days, making Nicky crack up)</span> <span>and several bottles of wine. Joe had had to stop Michelangelo from picking up his tools and possibly breaking his hands (god, they’d been so thoroughly drunk) when the artist had tried to get up and get back to work because “wine paints your cheeks and makes stars of of your lovely eyes, I need to capture it right now or I might die”. Okay, not those exact words, especially the last part, but Joe would recount it exactly like that in the 21th century.</span></p><p>
  <span>“We should do it again,” Joe says, drunk on memories. Every wave is different from the next and the previous one, but sometimes, even in immortality, all he desires is for something to come back to him, a feeling, a face, a sound. That’s why he looks for them in art, in music, in little things and gestures that speak of life like something that stays the same even while it changes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky’s eyes soften, he can feel them, just like his lips arching into a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we should post an ad on Craigslist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe laughs out loud, startling the crowd around them and earning them several dark or curious looks, both from tourists and less-than-amused guides. Nicky follows him, except he buries his face in Joe’s neck, and shakes happily for the next three minutes, unable to stop, trying and then starting again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe drags him away from the crowd, finding a secluded spot in a vicolo he’s pretty sure they visited half a century or so ago, hiding away from the crowd just like today, kissing slowly, bodies languid and known and welcoming. Nicky stops shaking with laughter when silence starts overpowering the distant echoes of the tourists endless chattering, his mouth relaxing while still pressed against Joe’s throat, and then opening again in a kiss that makes Joe’s knees almost cave. He sees Titian’s beautiful red behind closed eyelids, breathes it all in when Nicky’s lips seek his, drowning him softly. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for reading! Any and all kind of feedback is greatly appreciated.</p><p>ps: i have no idea how they managed to stay in one place for two years in italy during the 16th century</p></blockquote></div></div>
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